


A Beating Dead Heart

by auotters



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Human/Vampire Relationship, London, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swearing, Vampires, a little angsty maybe?, definitely slow burn, fluff maybe, harsh words, vampire slayer! donghyuck, vampire! mark, we're in london, will be adding more tags and charas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28149840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auotters/pseuds/auotters
Summary: “Do you know who I am?” he asked, staring at the boy wild-eyed, pointing at himself like he was talking to a kindergartener.The boy looked up after dusting the dirt off his knees, he was as confused as the vampire was. He stared right into the vampire’s eyes. He knitted his eyebrows in one place,  “should I know you?” the boy questioned, raising one of his eyebrows scrutinizing the vampire from head to toe.(or, the pureblooded vampire finds himself confused as to how his presumed 300-years-old dead lover, is now standing in front of him with blood splattered across his face, acting so nonchalant about the man he had just killed minutes ago laying behind him.)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	A Beating Dead Heart

**Author's Note:**

> my first fic, do forgive me if it's not up to your expectations. you can find me on Twitter @auotterssi :D

Death. He was never afraid of it. He thought of death even as a blessing that he awaited, a gift upon his life. He's tired of the sickening cycle of life. No, he's not per se saying his life was boring— because it's not. Well, it was not. He's just tired, the fact that he had watched all of his loved ones get outrun by age, the way they flourished, and the way they fell. He grew tired of being the one who watched it all happen all on his own. He wanted it to stop, as in flat-lined. He sometimes felt like he's not even alive. Just a being drifting in time and space without actually living in it. anymore.

Walking past the bridge, he went straight to the forest. He brought a wooden stake with him. He had prepared the wooden stake years before. He thought he would change his mind as time goes by, and maybe he found 'the real meaning of life' but turns out life is just a huge fucking bitch that does nothing but made you want to silently vanish from its hold. He was ready to die that day. No matter how hurtful it might be, he must do it. No, he needed to do it, and he wanted to do it. He fastened his pace, somehow his legs brought him right to the middle of the forest by themselves. This is it, He thought to himself. He was weirdly ecstatic at the idea of being dead.

He looked up to the sky. He finds the moon shining ever so brightly, unmoving, even on his most plain darkest days. The world wouldn’t even notice my absence, he thought. The moon would still shine the way it should. The earth would still revolve around the sun. flowers would still bloom during autumns. The moon looked like it's eloquently whispering to him, telling him that he'll regret everything once he dies. He'll regret ending his own life by his own hands. That he'll miss the way wind blows on a warm summer night or the way frostbites visit during cold winter mornings. When you've experienced each season more than you can count on your hands, things got tedious and dull real fast.

He breathed in and out, he counted from one to ten inside his head. Even though he knew he couldn't ‘breathe’ scientifically, he did it naturally because he was so used to fleeting and mixing in with humans that he partially took part in the appearance of breathing like he was the one actually breathing. He used to think that breathing exercises wouldn’t have any effect on him. Oh, how wrong he was. Turns out the breathing exercises did help him; A lot. Breathing kept him on guard, calm and, reserved for most of the times when all he saw was red. He finished counting to ten. He commanded his eyes to open. The annoyingly consistent moon welcomed him back like a reminder that he’s just a grain of salt in the main scheme of the universe. He looked at the wooden stake right beneath his own grip. He was ready to die. To face whatever is prepared for the dead; the afterlife. He was sick and tired, and he wanted out. He raised his right hand, the one gripping his suicide weapon. He felt a scream bubbling; threatening to spill out from his vocal chord. 

It was then. right then and there when he was about to swing his wooden stake onto where his heart would be if he ever had one; when he heard a cry —more like a sewn together swear words with the word ‘die you bastard’ jumbled into the mix— breaking through his lucid induced mind. The thought of dying abruptly came to him in full force. He didn't want to die. at least not right now. He recognized the voice, he knew it like the back of his hand. The voice he used to hear when he woke up in the morning, the voice he used to hear when he’s about to succumb to sweet peaceful nights. He could physically feel those memories coming back to him full-force. He really wished he had not heard it back then if he knew what would happen next.

He heard it before he could see it (damn vampires and their heightened senses). A sound of a body falling to the plane surface of mother earth. He heard a crunch for what seems like a bone, cracking loudly. He immediately dropped his wooden stake, which was his suicide weapon, to the ground. He left it without a second thought. He ran and ran and ran. He felt like he never even ran like this in the past, well, maybe around two centuries ago or something. The voice of a specific boy ringing in his mind as he avoided every single obstacle that went his way between him and the other end. He wanted to say ‘my heart is beating so loud’ but then that would be a humongous lie. He didn't even have a heart, to begin with, and yet someone in his past managed to steal his heart. That someone is the one who is currently shouting ‘die you piece of shit!' from the other line.

He didn't know what the boy meant nor what the boy was wishing to die. He did not care at the time. All he thought about was how nice the other's skin used to be underneath his fingertips, about how the boy used to be the center of his world— the sun to his earth. He gasped, not because he was scared of the lying dead man in front of the said boy or the blatant fact that the boy held two huge machetes or the fact that there is a pool of dark-red blood right beneath the boy; engulfing him in red up until his ankle. He gasped because he saw that the resemblance was way too uncanny for him that his brain started to short-circuit. 

Those eyes, he thought. It was way too similar, he must have had imagined it. Don't get him wrong though, He knew about reincarnation. When you have lived for almost four hundred years, you'd start to realize that some people did atrocious acts in their past life, and they got reborn to pay for their sins. He knew about it— but no, not this boy. He was the 'nice guy' that everyone knew. He was there when someone needed him. He always put others first without sacrificing himself. He was smart, brilliant even. God, the vampire can speak about him for days. If he can paint, he'd paint the boy on every blank space he managed to get his hands on. Even then, a painter could never capture the true beauty of the boy on a canvas.

Then who is this? he looks way too similar to his beloved boy for him to be a simple doppelgänger. The boy even has the same shade of tan delineated on his skin. It was a very trippy occurrence to experience. He felt young again for the first time in what felt like forever. It was just like the first time they met. Three hundred years ago, they also encountered each other under the moonlight. A promise was made that day, a truce. The tan boy was a witch, he was a vampire. A baby vampire, sure, but that didn't make him chickened out from the apparent dark power encircling the other boy. The witch was supposedly put there to kill this fragile vampire with his magic. The witch couldn't bear killing a considered baby vampire. The witch knew that, behind those fangs, the vampire was just a curious 20-year-old boy who didn't know where he would go in life. There were only them, and the moon, too, that night in that forest. The witch proposed a proposition, the proposition held a tremendous significance over both of them. The witch mandated that they must have a bond. An irritating reminder that they're connected, and they couldn't outrun or turn their backs towards each other in the following years.

The witch was tired of his life being controlled in every passing second of his life. The witch knew he could run away, easily, but at the same time, he didn't know what he was chasing after all. But right at that moment, he knew that he could make his life more exciting. He knew it was wrong to make use of the boy to be his partner in crime, without actually, asking the boy's consent. It was a lose-lose option for the vampire. Either he went with the proposition the witch had made for him or, well, dying at said witch's hands. Life is confusing, one day you're enjoying it; and the other, you'd rather die than living it. The boy was young and naive, he had agreed to the proposition the witch gave him, thinking that the witch actually wanted to help him escape from a brutal murder, for his sake. He was so stupid, it was unbelievable. 

They both ran away that night. They travel to a faraway land, where they knew there's nothing that can intrude on them there. Oh, were they wrong— so, so wrong. They were the so-called; perfect for each other; soulmates, destined to be together. A witch and A vampire shouldn't even be friends, much less, sucking each others' faces; sometimes dicks off, but we don't talk about that here. At first, it started small, the misfortunes seemingly a normal occurrence of bad luck that everyone experiences in their life. 

"Hey!" The vampire is brought back to the present. The boy's voice, smooth as silk, sweet as honey, cut through his nostalgia like a hot knife through butter. He blinked, once, twice, the boy peers at him weirdly before dusting the dirt off his knees with his hands. The machetes that were in his hands before were now tucked in neatly on its vessel. Even though the boy in front of him weirdly resembles his past loved ones, he did look a bit different. The boy has brown curly hair, a smoky eye look that graces his beautiful brown doe eyes. He has black painted nails, with little white skull stickers only on his middle fingers. He has a tattoo on his right hand, heart-shaped. No, not the heart where you usually drew at the end of a letter. A literal heart, sketched out looking fresh out of autopsy. The tattoo is fascinating, it has colored ink stitched to the owner's skin. It looked so right to be there— it was designated to be there. And of course, he looked modern with his baby pink hoodie under his black leather jacket with black ripped jeans to complete the look. The vampire is in a battle with his inner turmoil, he didn't know if he should ask the boy if he, by any chance, recognize him or not? The words spilled out from his mouth before he could think about it any further.

"Do you know who I am?" The vampire asks, staring wide-eyed at the boy, pointing at himself like he was talking to a kindergartener. the boy looked up; the vampire can see how confusion is written all over his face as well. 

"Should I know you?" the boy asks him, eyebrows knitted together, scanning him from head to toe. The vampire felt naked under those eyes, it's like him, exactly, not a doppelganger, but him, his witch. The vampire knew he's reaching but he didn't care. He asks the boy again.

"do you really not recognize me?" the vampire questions, "what about now?" he swept his hair up, lifting it off his forehead like the way he used to style it when they —him and his witch— were together. 

"are you a-" the boy puts up his hands on the side of his head, moving it in a circular motion as he clocks his mouth. "you know, cuckoo? I mean, you're the first vampire, ever, that doesn't jump me when there's an opportunity. so," the boy makes a thinking gesture, "you," he pointed at the vampire. "must be either a lunatic or a lunatic." The boy wraps his little show by folding his arms in front of his chest, scrutinizing the vampire prudently. 

"I'm not a lunatic," the vampire answers, he doesn't know what to do. This supposed boy who he thought he knew is actually not the boy that he knew of, and yet at the same time, they're very similar, and what did he mean by 'the first vampire to not jump on him'? is he a thug that likes to play murder with vampires? or..? but then his eyes traveled back to the machetes resting nimbly on his waist, to the man laying soul-less behind the boy, the man was a vampire. The boy is a vampire slayer. How could he not be aware of the glaring signs, that the boy in front of him, is in fact a vampire slayer? Once again, he was in a trap of a specific boy.

"I-" the vampire commences, "what's your name?" 

"I'm not just going to give my name out to a vampire and out myself, idiot. Plus, I got work to do, and don't get me wrong, you seem like a very nice vampire, but I have a job to do. So, no offense." the boy pulls his machetes out, but this time the machetes are used against him. His mind went into overdrive. Might as well die on this weird doppelganger’s hands of my witch than to die on my own hands, he thought. 

"You can't kill me with metal, though," the vampire blurts out, more out of reflex since in vampire movies they always try to kill vampires with guns and knives, and he always mumbles to himself that vampires only can be killed with a wooden weapon. And he fully knows that this boy in front of him can kill a vampire. Just look at the dead body lying there as evidence.

"Yeah, I know, but Michelle and Michael over here, are special," the boy smiles, he has this twinkle in his eyes, and God, it feels like his 'heart' is beating again. He never felt this warm ever since then. That condemned horrible day. He moved sideways parallel to where the boy is. He doesn't know whether to fight or to flee from this vampire slayer. If he flees, will he ever find this vampire slayer again? he'd rather die, to be completely honest. I mean, he didn't come to a dodgy forest in the middle of the night just to come back to his house at the end of the day. The only reason there’s no wooden stake coming out of his back is because of this particular boy. The boy just keeps on throwing swing after swing aiming for his ‘heart’. If he dies right at this moment, right at this time, would he regret not even knowing this boy’s name? He’s thinking about it while he swung from side to side to dodge the sharp blades coming for him. The boy is fast, his movements are splendid. Sharp. Too sharp. _Flee, I should flee for now._

The vampire jumps from branch to branch, purposely making the vampire slayer confused as to where he is. Humans can’t follow movements this fast even if they had special training. He didn’t make a pattern of his jumping spots, he knew that this vampire slayer is a sharp one. A wolf disguised in a sheep’s wool. At least, his skills are. Even though humans can’t see in detail when vampires do super-speed, they can still see a moving blur. They’re not blind, just a bit slow. Plus, it’s not common for humans to even know about the existence of creatures outside themselves. They always thought that vampires, werewolves, witches, and so on so forth, are myths. Oh, humans… a vessel with no power whatsoever. But, this boy is sharper than normal humans, he should be careful, if this boy can make a pattern out of his movements he’s doomed. He doesn't know what the boy meant by ‘his machetes are special’ but he doesn’t want to know. Not right now, when said machetes will be used to terminate him.

“Stop playing vampire, I know a tease when I meet one.” the boy smirks, he lilts his head a little to the side, putting up his guard. Reserved, is a word to describe this boy in short. He knows what he’s fighting at and what he needs to do in order to properly sedate his enemy. Even though the boy just stares at nowhere in particular, he never thinks lightly of his foe. Is it really the time to admire this boy’s intelligence? Probably not. Alright, he’s tired of toying with this boy, the vampire turns his direction 180 degrees so that he can flee away from the spot. He jumped down the branch and started to run. As he’s about two feet away from where he landed, he felt something cold touch his back. The swing was not clean, but it got the point across. There’s a machete sticking out from his right side of the stomach. Fuck, is this really how I’m going to die? At least I didn’t die by my own hands. The machete burns his skin like no other weapon, ever. It’s cold yet hot at the same time, it’s confusing. 

“You can’t run from me, vampire.” the boy speaks from behind him, thrusting his machete further into his back. The vampire drops to his knees, clutching his stomach. It hurts, he thought. 

“If I’m going to die, would you at least tell me your name?” the vampire asks coughing up blood in the process. What a weird vampire. He’s dying and he’s asking for his murderer’s name? The vampire slayer keeps his silence. The vampire waits and waits but the answer never comes. He didn’t realize when the boy disappeared nor when he pulled his machete out from the vampire’s back. The vampire is both relieved and annoyed. First, He manages to not die, second, he now has a huge gash on his stomach, third, the vampire slayer is nowhere to be found. Furthermore, he now doesn’t want to die. He needs to meet that vampire slayer again, even once, he needs it. He needs to know whether he’s a reborn or a doppelganger. He needs to know. He walked home limping on his side, he can’t exactly speed-run to his house because he can’t even walk with the wound plaguing him.

—ψ—

He woke up the next day feeling determined, and a bit shitty. His wound wouldn’t close or heal. The machetes sure are special. Vampires are immune to any type of weapons aside from wooden but this particular set of machete is exceptional. Is it magic? Is it a potion coated over his machetes? Who does he work for? Or is he a person that has underlying hate towards vampires? Like a personal grudge or something? He presses a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to his wound. He grimaced and clutched his teeth to avoid screaming out his pain. Which can get him a warning from his annoying neighbor. Yes, he’s not living in a scary murky enclosed gothic house. He decides that today he would go out and try to find information about vampire slayers. It’s not like he never had business or came across one in his life, but, it was like 120 years ago or something last time he crossed paths with a vampire slayer. It was highly uncommon now, to have vampire slayers loitering around with their weapons dangling from their hands ready to swing at any vampire that came their way.

He bandages his wound and puts on a black tee. He walks out of his bathroom, puts on his black leather jacket, checks if all water taps are turned off, and then heads out. He genuinely doesn't know where to start, but, he knows someone who probably would. It’s unorthodox, considering it’s noon and he walks in a shady bar fully clothed in black attire. He didn’t care, no matter what you wore people will still judge you so why bother? He’s not a people pleaser either. The doorbell jingles indicating that someone is coming inside. He walked up to the bartender. The bartender is a young boy, probably in his early 20s or something. But it would be weird if the vampire told the boy ‘oh you look so young, where’s your boss?’ wouldn’t it? The vampire himself, too, looked like a college student who’s been suffering under college debts and surviving from week to week off instant noodles. Well, the latter is not exactly wrong. 

“Is your boss here?” he asks, sitting down on one of the bar stools.

“Nope, but he will be back before 4. You might as well just drink your noon away, sir.” the bartender answers, drying shot glasses with a cloth. “Margarita? Mojito?” the bartender looks up at him. “No offense, but you do look kinda deadAH- that hurts!” the boy gets a smack in the back of the head by a short black-haired man,

“Stop blabbing shit at our customer, go make 2 mojitos.” the man orders, The man walks to his side, they sit side to side. “And what brings you here at this fine noon, mark?” the man asks him, taking the mojitos from the poor —freshly scolded— bartender.

“Do you know where johnny went?” Mark asks the man, taking a swig of his cold-served mojito. He turns a blind eye upon the fact that the man is blatantly staring and observing his movements and reactions.

The man puts his glass down, “You met someone?” the man asks, wide-eyed. He put one of his hands towards Mark’s shoulder blade; as to tell him how shocked he was.

“Stop going inside my head, and it’s none of your business, ten.” Mark takes no notice of how the man, ten, is still looking at him. 

Ten opened his mouth like he’s about to utter something about how Mark always gave him the cold shoulder but then he closed his mouth again. He looks at Mark like he’s calculating; conjuring up images to please his own curiosity, he always acts like he doesn’t know anything but he definitely knows something is up. That’s the thing with witches, they like prodding around everyone as they pleased whenever they feel like doing it. Witches and vampires are now, not —exactly— in a war per se. They have this inner grudge towards each other that can’t really be described in words. Maybe it’s like when you have that annoying hair strand that keeps sticking up even though you tried to brush it down every so often. It’s like an annoyance that keeps on bugging and bugging when they could. Are they still killing each other? No. They’re just in a divorced state. Sometimes they bite each other, sometimes they treat each other nicely, according to the situation they need to be in. It’s discombobulating. However, it’s not the same case within Mark and Ten. They’re... Good acquaintances as Mark would like to word it. Mark likes the bar when it’s dark and lonely out because it’s always warm and toasty inside, and music is always playing, while Ten likes taking care of someone. It’s a win-win situation, really.

Ten’s voice sliced through the silence, “Johnny is out doing business, he will come back at 4. What do you even need to know this urgently anyway?” ten turns his body back to his original position, taking another sip of his mojito.

Mark exhaled roughly before speaking up, “what do you know about vampire slayers around here?”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are nice :) I hope you like the first chapter :D


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